


I'll take the lie.

by castilock



Series: Blackball. [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Explicit Language, I dont know what to tag, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Star Trek - Freeform, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-06 00:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castilock/pseuds/castilock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stepping forwards with a sigh like damp wind, Leonard began a not-so-wanted pursuit of a man he'd so not wanted to meet. He'd wanted to drink, and he'd wanted to wallow. A bit'a suffering was good for the soul, you know? But what's the point in suffering if you're not in pain?</p><p>Self-pity, check;</p><p>Hard memories, check.</p><p> But he'd been fine here, in the Academy, and sure, he'd had his troubles, but they'd come and they'd gone, and he was… fine, now- he was starting to think he'd been drinking away nothing, and pushed his hands into his pockets in a bout of cold, continuing his brisk walk down into god-knows-where.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Suppression

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this is just the first part of an academy series i've been wanting to write for a while !! this is my first time writing anything for anyone, really, so i guess if you notice any continuity errors or just like general errors with my trek canon, id be happy to hear them. this first part is just to flesh out some ideas ive had in my head, and im wanting to make this the start of a series
> 
> this fic can be read on its own, i mean its my only one anyway, and if youre wondering at which part of the movie's timeline this fic is based, it would be the academy era, around the second year. my bones is still battling with his problems, and the academy and his alcohol are most of them. i think ill give my kirk some issues with the academy and authority e.t.c... and i briefly thought about bringing in tarsus IV, so ill tag it if it comes in at any point.
> 
> thankyou !!

Chapter 1.

It wasn’t that he was indifferent to Starfleet, oh no. He’d heard all his life of their merits and their standing, and  _goddammit Leonard they could use a man like you;_  and it wasn’t that he wasn’t enjoying his practise here- hell, it was the best of a bad situation- but Leonard H. McCoy, doc to his patients, was  _too fucking_   _old_ for this.

~

                                                                                                                                                     

His second year at the academy had brought with it a swathe of fresh-faced cadets, disturbingly eager to dig in to the metaphorical buffet of Starfleet, and in Leonard’s opinion, too damn willing to lay down their lives for the ‘greater good’, or whatever he’d heard so many times in its propaganda.

 

'We need you', they'd pressed, but he'd most certainly needed them.

 

Bracing his hands at the edge of the bar, he began to survey the room, craning his neck to see as much as he was able. Scads of cadets pooled into the booths, all leather and aged hardwood, amidst a sea of faces Leonard vaguely recognised, and a pool of those he didn’t. In his time at the academy, Leo had come to realise that this was the only off-campus bar that’d allow him to get back to the dorms within curfew, after a night of suppressing memories, and wouldn’t leave him open for the juvenile small talk that any cadet who’d recognise him would certainly offer. He’d always known that the seedier the dive, the lower the chances he'd be recognised; insofar as the bars he’d sampled in the area were concerned, he was dead right.

Leonard Mccoy had no interest in being swept up in polite conversation about the damn weather when there was anything better to do, and avoiding unceasingly chatty cadets had become a talent of his in the two years he’d spent at the Academy. And tonight, whether it was his air of spite, or his downright  _unlikeability_ , nobody had tried to talk to him. Not yet, anyway.

Leonard wrapped his fingers around the cool rim of his bottle, breathing in an all too familiar smell he'd hoped so many times in his youth he'd never smell again, but loved unconditionally. On nights like this, it lulled him into a false sense of security. Bringing it to his lips, he averted his gaze to the bar’s redwood veneer. The wood looked native San Franciscan, chipped over time by glasses and bowls, how old must it be? He remembered reading ‘Finnegan’s’ in neon upon traipsing into the dive earlier that night, his mind then unaddled with bourbon, and he was sure he’d seen such a place as a child, growing up in Georgia. The establishments must have been founded around 1990, as a guess, and the bar looked at lea-

_thud._

He hesitated. He- he’d sworn the stool next to him was taken? His train of thought had halted in the concession of a body dropping down next to him, arms spread as widely on the bar as its legs, spread beneath, pushing Leonard into an uncomfortable compression. He felt small. He’d never liked that. He pulled his face into a scowl, leering at the man next to him.

In the thick darkness and his not-so-drunken stupor, Leonard could definitely make out a mess of dirty blonde hair, on the man, sticking outwards in a confusion that shouldn’t be possible with the Academy’s regulation haircut. Was he a cadet? Leo knew not a lot of them strayed this far off campus on a weekday. He could recognise the blazing red of the man’s uniform, so he could be one of the newbies. Leo shuffled upwards from his position, perhaps more forcibly than necessary, and as the man adjusted himself after Leonard’s  _wholly accidental_  shoving, he noticed that the man’s badge was that of Starfleet tactical operations: an infant’s hankering for a shot at heroics, he thought.

Great. He looked like a second year, the same as himself.

Easing his face from the scowl, Leonard hiccupped, bringing the strong taste of bourbon back to his mouth in a way he’d never thought of as desirable. He brought his hand up to his face, the one not burdened with his glass, and uttered a quiet “Excuse me”, after wiping his lips with his palm. The man, who’d evidently heard Leonard, swiped his hand through the air dismissively, as if letting him know it was okay.

“So..." the man droned, "What’s your poison?”. He’d turned to face Leonard mid-sentence, with eyes strikingly blue in the low light, and incomparably warm to the usual cold of the colour.

“I- excuse me?” Leonard replied. His speech had faultered at the last word, and he punctuated it with a brief sip of bourbon. He hated small talk, but his mama had raised a gentleman, so, shaking his head, he continued.

“I…”

“It’s bourbon, man. I know. I can see the label. I’m just talking bullshit.”

The man laughed, and Leonard didn’t know if he felt like laughing too.

“Oh, um, yeah.” he turned the bottle to face his onlooker, laying a finger on the etching, “Kentucky straight”.

“Shit. Strong stuff.” The man replied, lifting his head from his hands and bringing his own bottle to his lips, breaking his glare.

Leo sighed, adjusting his gaze back to the veneer. He was sure he'd made himself as unapproachable as he could? He didn’t want to talk, and especially not to some tactics brat who’d started a conversation from a damned hiccup. Leo’d barely re-slouched and re-scowled before the man with the blue eyes had stood up, heaving out a sigh as he stepped away from the bar, evidently towards the jukebox, which sat awkwardly against the wall between the bar’s adjoining drinks display and the first leather booth.  _Shit, that thing must be, what, 200 years old?_

The low hum of music that’d been resonating from the box since before Leonard’s arrival abruptly stopped. Or, at least he thought it had, he couldn’t hear a damn thing over the constant murmur of voices, that had clearly  _not_  died down as the night had progressed, to which Leonard was very disappointed. Maybe he’d try another bar tomorrow? One much further off campus. Fuck curfew. He turned his head swiftly around, which he'd found had followed the man into the crowd, and sighed.

Slouching further against the bar, Leo lifted the bottle to his lips, distancing himself from so many bodies with a prolonged sip of the whiskey. 

That was, of course, until he felt the breath knocked out of his lungs.


	2. Deuce.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ' "You've got me into this bullshit, so i've gotta get you checked up, okay? I'm a doctor when i'm not straight up drunk, but I'll... I'll help you out there. I've got a kit but it ain't fixing whatever's wrong with your damned insides, you'll need a full dermal regeneration chamber for that..." '
> 
> Chapter 2 of 'I'll take the lie', in my Blackball series.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2 !! this couldve been longer but im gonna continue this part of the fic through to the next chapter. Im tryina write a chapter a night :) the ideas are all in my head now and i know where its headed. (ive also raised the chapter count bc i cant write enough in a night for my 3 chapter draft to plan out)

A hollow burst of pain spread through Leo's back, settling in his gut. He tensed his shoulders in reaction.

 

 

 

 

~

 

Having been shoved by what he'd expect was an undue brawl, Leonard found himself in an awkward crouch. The pain had swept up his chest, and although from its intensity he knew he'd received no lacerations, knife or other, he could tell in a heartbeat that he'd been winded. He could see that his bottle had smashed against the bar, the shards narrowly avoiding his head as he was, again, pushed against the bar. He'd remember treating a cadet who'd been a victim of glass puncture wounds the next morning, but as a surge of adrenaline rushed through his body, his mind began to focus on getting him the fuck out of here, or, at least, out of danger.

In a haze, Leonard stepped away from the bar.

As if a shock wave had swept through the crowd, clots of people he'd seen and heard earlier had cleared a space behind him, stumbling backwards in an urgent rush to avoid whoever, or _whatever_ , was responsible.

"Fuck!" Leonard choked, "What the fuck's happened!"

He doubled over as the dull ache settled once again in his gut, and sucked in a few deep breaths. From the crowd, Leonard could hear a chorus of shouts, as two men -Starfleet security?- fell into the space, another joining from close to where Leonard had been sat. Wait, Fuck. The man, the man who'd so confidently started talking to Leonard earlier, was it him?

_Shit._

He was lying on the ground, coughing gravely. Blood sprayed from his mouth at the third, hoarse, cough, which Leonard knew must mean he'd had a nose bleed. His hands had clutched his jaw, and despite the low light of the joint, Leonard could see that his features were contorted in pain. The man's arm grappled onto the floor, narrowly missing the cadet's leg, and almost immediately, two of his friends had grabbed the man by his shoulders, heaving him to his feet. His smile was crooked, and... _why was he smiling?_. Upon being brought to his feet, he began to laugh, a similar throaty chuckle to that which Leonard had heard over the bar, earlier. Dammit, _who is this kid? And why is he fucking laughing?_

A hand drew back to deliver another blow to the kid's jaw.

Leo had always hated fights, and there was something in the man's eyes that told him this one was going to remain one-sided. He'd started this, the man, of that Leonard was sure.

He'd known people in his past who'd liked to handle their problems with fighting, and he'd be damned if he hadn't done too, But there's always been a part of him that'd kicked into action whenever someone was receiving this abuse; whether it was his doctoral ethics that had never allowed him to stand by and watch, or some deeply suppressed hero complex, he wanted to jump in and stop this. Before he knew what the hell he was doing, he had surged over to the man's arm, grabbing his fist in its retreat, and had swiftly injected a hypo of single dose propofol into his neck. The man began to sway to the left, dropping his fist to his side, turning drowsily in a strained attempt to attack Leonard, before collapsing with a thud into the crowd. Had... Had Leonard even been holding a hypo? He couldn't remember.

 _Shit_. Propofol, as far as Leonard had known, was a sedative he'd once studied in med school, which would incur a state of sedation, for, what, three minutes? Suppressing the thought that an unauthorised administration of such a sedative could lead to an investigation and possible revocation of his damn medical license, Leonard searched upwards for the blue-eyed man, who was lying flat on a low bar table, having knocked out one of the men.

Leonard knelt down beside the man he'd sedated, still unconscious, and instinctively withdrew a commission medical scanner from his on-hand medical kit, sweeping it briefly over the man's neck. Traces of the sedative would be undetectable in the bloodstream in a meagre two hours and twenty-four minutes, and although this assured that Leonard's misconduct most possibly wouldn't be proven, he felt sick to his stomach from his misuse of any of the tools he'd been trusted with. Rising to his feet, all worry for the stranger and anger at himself, Leonard scanned the space around him. The bartender, _Liam, was he called_ , had left his drinks and stood tensely beside the jukebox, clenching his communicator. Leonard could recall a few drunken conversations with him, and was in all confidence he'd see the assailants as Leonard had, and would call the police only if _necessary_ , having straightened out the story with the other man. 

_The other man._

_  
_"I... Shit, you got it good" Leo grumbled, walking towards the man, who'd moved off the table and was kneeling indecisively on the floor.

"Nah" the kid choked. He reached out for Leo's hand when it was offered, hoisting himself up onto two feet, but abruptly buckling over, one hand clenched against his stomach. Leonard reached for the man's hand, edging it gently away from his abdomen.

"Hey, man, wha-"

"Why don't you be quiet now, you could've broken your Xiphoid process, kid." Leo muttered, more to himself than for anybody else, "It could've cut into your liver, internal bleeding..."

"You know what, get this checked up. But, I..." Leonard wiped his forehead,  sighing into his hand as it dropped back down. He glanced at the door. "Come o'er here".

Gesturing loosely to the exit, Leo began to walk away.

"You've got me into this bullshit, so i've gotta get you checked up, okay? I'm a doctor when i'm not straight up drunk, but I'll... I'll help you out there. I've got a kit but it ain't fixing whatever's wrong with your damned insides, you'll need a full dermal regeneration chamber for that..."

Assaulted by more than a few worried glances, the man followed him, his mouth breaking into a wavering grin.

"Why're you helping me, man? It's not like i nee-" The kid gagged, bringing his fist to his mouth. Leonard was sure he'd coughed up vomit, which wouldn't be good news as far as the whole internal lacerations were concerned.

"Just follow me out here, 'kay? The bar's closing anyway..." 

"What's your name, kid" Leo barked.

"Kirk, James Tiberius." he replied, his expression darkening, "You may've heard of me, you know, Kirk and all?", he reached out to the bar and seized a bottle,  _Vodka, was it?_

"Hey, doc. I heard this helps to clean, or whatever." he pitched the bottle into the air, and Leo turned around, barely catching it in his arms.

"Thanks, Jim... Kir-"

"Jim" he intermitted, pausing in his movement to wipe a steady trickle of blood from his nose. In an all too forced act of what Leonard might've thought of as boasting, Jim shoved forward, opening the dive's back door with a painful _bang._

Leonard had frequented Finnegan's often enough to recognise the open space that lined the joint's back, wide and flat, and edged with a large dumpster stall that he'd always thought wasn't needed. The building itself, hell, the whole damn  _street_ was built on reclaimed land, backing into the San Francisco bay. The night was almost as musky as the bar, and the Golden Gate bridge was only partially visible through the fog. Leonard could discern the Academy in the distance, and cursed at it as he stepped forwards.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, if there are any errors with grammar, continuity, e.t.c... then let me know, and i'll sort them out.
> 
> thankyou for reading !!
> 
> (im still checking through this chapter so it might change a bit)


	3. Concussion.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I ain't letting you down.
> 
> Chapter 3 of the first part of my academy series: 'Blackball'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so heres chapter 3 !! sorry for the wait, and i know its kinda short but ive got a lot of shit to do irl w it being new year and stuff so ill make the next chapter real long. again, if there are any mistakes then point them out !! ive not got anyone to beta so all mistakes are mine, so feel free to tell me so i can correct them !!
> 
> thankyou for reading !!

Pulling his face into a scowl, Leo dropped down to a crouch at the edge of the lot; he’d placed the Vodka on the ground before it had dawned he’d left his own drink at the bar. He’d probably need to be sober for this, anyway.

His feet slid from beneath him, and, bringing his arms to rest on an all too paltry railing, swung out over the San Francisco bay. He’d often came here on the nights he needed a clear head, over his time at the Academy, and had found that the cool, briny air- and the mists of water that sprayed at his feet- had helped him reach the calm that he needed. He considered taking off his boots, but retracted the idea as the man, or Jim, should he say, slumped down next to him. His presence was one that demanded to be noticed, but Leonard lay backwards, closing his eyes.

The heavy melody of waves against the shore began to soothe his nerves. But, what didn’t, and what again demanded to be noticed, was James T. Kirk, and in that instance, Leo’s mind began to flood back to him.

He sighed, clearing his throat.

~

“So… What I say about patching you up, kid” Leonard grumbled, withdrawing a tiny med kit from his pocket, and laying it on the ground beside him. His voice was strained from his position, but he didn’t want to sit up.

This kit was small, too small. He’d have to speak to his supervisor about getting a larger one, maybe, but it seemed an unnecessary trouble when he was the only doctor in medical paranoid enough to carry one on-hand.

Heaving himself upright –and turning to face Jim- he unzipped the kit, removing a painfully small medical tricorder, and a dermal regenerator. To a half-hearted mew of defiance, Leonard grasped Jim’s face, and turned it slowly to face him, edging himself closer.

He exhaled in concentration, and watched his breath turn to a dim mist in the cold, spreading over Jim’s face as it disappeared.

“Hey man, you could at lea-“, Jim coughed, deeply, but continued. “You could buy me a drink, first.”

His face spread into a grin, which was clearly painful for him, and quickly retreated into his eyes.

“Why don’t you shut your mouth for a minute, ‘kay? I’ve gotta’ close up a few cuts.” Leo droned, suppressing a smile.

“That is if you don’t mind… your fucking highness.”

Smiling, Jim lowered his gaze to the water, evidently granting Leonard permission to regenerate any injuries he’d want. Keen at the opportunity, he swept the regenerator across the width of the kid’s head, watching a bruise on his crown lighten from its deep purple to a yellow, before turning a dull red and disappearing completely.

He’d always loved the hum of a regenerator. In itself it was a low, airy sound, which had never faltered to assure Leonard that all was well, and all was healing. He liked it. It had once been just _one_ of the charming constants in his life- before he had defaulted from a comfortable service in his hometown- which he’d never thought he’d miss. That was, by all means, until it was yet another of the vices to which he’d clamped himself so tightly, so recently; In parallel to bourbon, his newfound vice had seemed to be helping strangers in back-alleys.

 _Great_.

He blinked hard, and looked down at his knees, placing the regenerator on the ground. As if copying his actions, Jim swept his head downwards, and shuffled further away from Leonard. His presence remained invasive, but he had crossed his arms tightly. His blue eyes no longer reflected the moonlight; he had closed them lightly, and proceeded to lie backwards as Leonard had before.

“Hey. Don’t hold back on me, kid, I thought we came out here so I could fix you up?”

Leonard lowered his body to mirror Jim’s, casting a look he’d used so often to calm down cadets at medical, but raised his head as he remembered that Jim’s eyes were closed.

“This ain’t what usually happens when I come out here, doc.” Jim murmured, forcing a grin upon opening his eyes, “To bars, I mean. Off-campus.”

He shook his head, chuckling, and returned his eyes to Leonard.

“I’m not askin’ what usually happens, I guess it’s none of my business.” Leo replied. “But I’d like to think you don’t get your ass into these fights that often”.

Leo shifted his tricorder from its new position above Jim’s head, as it’d remained since Jim’s eyes had opened, and read its display.

“Looks like you’ve got a concussion, kid, it really ain’t your day. It’s only mild, but we better get you back to med-”

Jim’s eyes widened, and he swept a nervous hand through his hair.

“Jim?”

The man looked flustered, and his hands wrung anxiously on his lap.

Leonard lowered his head to Jim’s level, but with a shift that’d be painful for anyone, hammered or not, Jim had lurched to his feet, and began to walk away. He was crooked with, what, _anticipation?_ , and, for a second, Leonard thought he’d just let him back to whatever the fuck he was doing, but he was concussed, with possible internal haemorrhage and fracturing of the xiphoid process, and he wouldn’t sleep for a week if he let him out of his sight. For now, he was a patient. A patient whose disregard for his own safety sent a twinge of discomfort down Leo’s spine, but a patient nonetheless.

He pulled himself to his feet, cursing through his teeth.

Leonard Mccoy would _not_ die for Starfleet, he’s more use _alive_ than he is dead, but he’d be damned if he didn’t feel like living out tonight. He could feel his shoulders tense as he rounded the bar’s corner, distinguishing the silhouette of the kid, all confidence and petty mystery, and _why are you helping me, man?_

He asked himself the same question as he stepped forward, past his good judgement and willpower, and wondered why the hell he was here, anyway.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive only read through this like three times w/out checking for mistakes, so go ahead and point any out !!


	4. Confession.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And you did help me out back there.”, Jim shuffled forward, “So I’ve gotta help you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i posted this when i was tired as heck so if ive made any mistakes then please point them out !! unbeta'd , so all mistakes are mine.

The hard, briny air of the bay had shifted across Leonard's back- raising its spray from his ankles to the backs of his knees; He pushed forward as he felt a splash of water at his boots, and wondered briefly when it had gotten so rough. He'd only been standing here for, what, twenty seconds? But since Kirk's departure, the bay's low mist had seemed to deepen, and its water had begun to splash onto the land. He guessed that if the waves had picked up so suddenly, it must've been raining downstream. He'd like that, rain. A cool relief from the heat that had clung to him since he'd pulled on his coat,

and pulled out this man.

 

~

 

Stepping forwards with a sigh like damp wind, Leonard began a not-so-wanted pursuit of a man he'd so not wanted to meet. He'd wanted to drink, and he'd wanted to wallow. A bit'a suffering was good for the soul, you know? But what's the point in suffering if you're not in pain?

 

Self-pity, check;

 

Hard memories, check.

 

But he'd been fine here, in the Academy, and sure, he'd had his troubles, but they'd come and they'd gone, and he was… fine, now- he was starting to think he'd been drinking away nothing, and pushed his hands into his pockets in a bout of cold, continuing his brisk walk down into god-knows-where.

 

Soon enough, the fog had dropped beneath his feet, failing to sidle up the all too steep incline. He risked a quick look backwards, but turned his gaze back to the undoubtedly Kirk shaped silhouette escaping before him upon meeting only a clouded view of the railing at which he'd been sat. Fog had settled thickly over the bay, and in the cold night's denial of a final curse at the Academy, Leonard glared holes into Jim Kirk's back.

 

His default setting _was_ spite, after all.

~

“It ain’t real nice to go running off like that without as much as a damn ‘seeya’” Leonard shouted, feeling the icy prickle of a few drops of rain.

“Hey” He shouted again, picking up his pace as he watched Kirk’s shadow disappear around a corner.

For a second, maybe, he thought he heard a “Sorry” from the kid, but had dismissed it as rain or distant conversation as he slowed down. He sighed into the collar of his jacket, and felt damned _stupid._

By all means, his duty tonight was _not_ to go chasing on after some racy-eyed cadet with cuts and bruises and possible internal haemorrhaging, but he couldn’t well watch him leave, either.

He clearly didn’t want to be dragged over to medical with some batshit doctor he’d just so happened to run into- but Leo blinked hard as he saw a head of dirty blonde hair hover back past the wall, before quickly retreating. Fuck, if this kid was expecting some kinda wild goose chase on Leonard’s evening off then he had another thing comin’, but, he’d already drawn him this far- and it was little more than a dozen metres. A dozen long steps in the biting rain, which had picked up now, and padded lightly against his back. Its cold relief couldn’t’ve come any sooner, though, as Jim appeared again from around the corner. His hands were pressed lightly against his temples, and he shook his head as he lowered them down to his sides, cussing softly at the ground. He was stood in the fuzzy beam of a streetlamp, and Leonard could see his face clearly- unburdened by the dark lighting of the bar that Liam had _sworn_ _was for ambience._

“I, uh… Sorry man.” Kirk wheezed, followed by a tight clench of his teeth and the repositioning of his hands.

“I just… It’s stupid. I’ve had this kinda’ _problem_ with hospitals or medicals or whatever since I was a kid, and I guess I ran when you mentioned ‘em. People’ve gotta keep their hands off me, sometimes, you know?” He faltered slightly in his wording, and swept his hands up in defence, “I mean I was fine back there with the regenerator thing, man, you were careful. I just don’t like bein’ drugged and cut open for who knows what.”

Brushing damp bangs from his forehead, Leonard exhaled.

“Who said you were gettin’ cut open, kid.” His thick accent had dragged out in his intoxication, and he pulled a hand up to his temple, mirroring Kirk. “We ain’t doin’ nothing you don’t want, okay?”

Jim nodded loosely.

“ _Hell_ , don’t even know if you’ve got aught wrong with you, but you’ve still gotta check into medical sometime. I saw you throwin’ up earlier, and you coughed up a good spray of blood, too, and I know you’re hammered but I’m one for staying on the safe side. Got a ride?”

Jim’s mouth fell loosely at the change of topic, but uttered a quiet “I guess”, before turning slowly, and continuing, “I’ve got a cycle? Curfew’s ten and you don’t wanna know what time it is, so I’m guessin’ you need a lift, right? You don’t look like a, um… Cab guy. And you did help me out back there.” He shuffled forward. “So I’ve gotta help you.”

“I don’t look like a _what_?” Leonard growled, “What the fuck is a ‘Cab guy’?”

Kirk bit back a laugh, and coughed readily to compensate. A hand waved in his direction, and he pushed his own into his pockets- tucking his neck into his collar as he jogged into step with Jim.

“If I wake up late for alpha shift tomorrow, i’m blamin’ you.” He scowled. This time, Kirk did laugh- the sound lost in the rain that hammered down at their shoulders. Mottled through the fog and the rain and his stupor, Leo could make out the bike. And, _shit. That thing was small._


End file.
